


waking up is the hardest goodbye

by marvelleous



Series: saying goodbye is the hardest thing to do [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, a lot of both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/marvelleous
Summary: “According to Radcliffe, May had been fighting her way out of every scenario they placed her in, waking up, escaping. He’d tried everything, even altering Bahrain, to keep her sedated. But it all failed. Until they’d transferred her consciousness to the framework. She’s been thriving.”Phil needs to enter the framework in order to rescue Melinda, but he’s afraid of what he might be taking her away from.





	

**Author's Note:**

> someone posted a bts photo of ming with bangs to the philinda chatroom, and a thousand messages later, this story was born. also, this is everything that our fandom deserves, but probably won’t get, so here you go friends! thank you to itsamagicalplace (emma) for the title, and tessdebelle (stef) for beta-ing.

There are men bleeding out all around them, bad soldiers fighting for an even worse leader, but Phil pays them no mind as he and Daisy run through the halls, heading towards the last unexplored room in this god-forsaken compound. There is nowhere else; they've searched every level, checked all passageways. They must be keeping her there.  
  
Daisy blasts through the door but stands back to let him through first; she wasn't going to stand between a man driven into desperation and the woman he loved.  
  
They enter the room, a lab, and sure enough, May is there, strapped upright to a vertical gurney, an oddly futuristic helmet on her head. Radcliffe's murder bot had been taken out by Daisy earlier, but the bad doctor is there himself, arms slowly raising in mock surrender as Phil points a gun at him.  
  
"What did you do to her?"  
  
He doesn't raise his voice; he doesn't shout it with anger. It's a question and he wants an answer. That's all. But there's something in his tone that frightens even Daisy; she's never heard him speak like this before and it terrifies her.  
  
"She's quite fine, Agent Coulson. Perfectly fine."  
  
Daisy thinks that she sees Coulson's arm twitch a little and honestly, even if he can hold in his anger, she doesn't have to. There's a memory in the back of her mind, back to a simpler if just as terrifying time.  
  
_I'm furious. But I'm sure as hell not gonna waste it on a tantrum. I'm gonna mine it, save it..._  
  
She had been controlling her emotions, trying to remain stoic, brave in the face of danger. If Coulson was coping, so could she. But now was the time to let her feelings out. She can feel the vibrations run through her arm, flowing through her fingers and in the blink of an eye, Radcliffe is against the wall, held back by the force of her tremors. She still holds back, keeps her powers in check; it she lets go, she might shatter every bone in his body.

It’s nothing short of what he deserves after putting their team, putting Coulson, through so much grief, but they might still need his knowledge.  
  
And so she keeps her arm aimed at him and turns back, watching as Coulson lowers his gun and tentatively approaches May, taking a moment to just stare at her, afraid that if he blinks she'll just disappear.  
  
"What did he to do you?" he whispers again, this time to the unconscious Melinda, unsure of how to proceed. She's breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest is only enough to reassure him that she's alive, not that she's okay. He can hear the beeping of the heart monitor, see the even numbers; she's resting, physically there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her.  
  
His first instinct is to pull the helmet off her, remove the restraints holding her there and take her in his arms and carry her away from this place. But as he reaches for it; there’s a shout of alarm that makes him pause.

 

“Don’t! If you rip her out of there it could destroy her mind.”

 

They already know Radcliffe is untrustworthy - Phil wants to ignore the man’s words, to take Melinda and get out of here, but he can hear Fitzsimmons in his ear, telling him to be cautious; that the doctor might not be lying.

 

“We’ll be at your location in five minutes sir,” Simmons tells him, and so they wait.

 

He can’t just stand there, watching her, so still. It’s not right. So he takes her hand, relishing in the warmth still there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above her knuckles. He can feel Daisy watching him in this vulnerable state, but he doesn’t care. They’d feared the worst, and even with all the hope that he had, there was a small part of his mind telling him that it was too late, that she was gone. The part that blamed himself for not noticing that she was missing; letting a robot masquerade as his best friend of thirty years for god-knows how long. He had been distracted, unfocused, too busy smiling, flirting and rejoicing at the possibility of her returning his feelings. If only he had realised sooner; spotted a flaw. If Melinda had been harmed in any way, if she didn’t return as she had left, he would never forgive himself.

 

It feels like an eternity to him before they finally hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, and another lifetime before Fitz is rushing in, Mack two steps behind, trailed by four heavily armed agents.

 

“Simmons is with the Director. He’s pretty banged up,” Fitz says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he makes his way over to them. Phil can only give a curt nod at that statement, not even turning to acknowledge them, eyes trained on Melinda.

 

At first he can hear their voices in the background, discussing the events that had just played out, how to proceed now, but then it fades to indistinct chatter and eventually a soft buzzing noise at the edge of his consciousness.

 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they can’t bring her out of this safely. They have a copy of her memories in the form of the LMD, but after today, no matter the outcome, he’ll have his team destroy it. It wasn’t fair to Melinda, and as much as he loathed to say it, it wasn’t fair to the LMD, who, while a robot, could clearly feel all the emotions of a human. Better a quick death.

 

He lets his shoulders fall slightly when he feels Daisy’s hand on his arm, waiting for her to deliver the news.

 

“Fitz says that from what he can tell, pulling her out of the simulation could cause irreparable damage. According to Radcliffe, May had been fighting her way out of every scenario they placed her in, waking up, escaping. He’d tried everything, even altering Bahrain, to keep her sedated. But it all failed. Until they’d transferred her consciousness to the framework. She’s been thriving.”

 

Phil wants Radcliffe to experience the pain that Melinda has gone through for putting her through Bahrain again and again. She shouldn’t have had to relive that. He doesn’t want to imagine what Melinda is seeing in there now; in that fake world that exists only in one’s mind. But she must be happy, content, if she is no longer trying to leave it. For a split second, and no longer than that, he wonders if he should just leave her there, let her live out her days in whatever world she has built for herself, but that thought disappears before it can truly form. He knows Melinda. He’s known her for years. She wouldn’t want this.

 

And he’s selfish. For as long as she’s in there, she isn’t here, by his side, where he needs her the most. There had been a period of time, between Bahrain and his death where they had drifted apart, and then again when she had left S.H.I.E.L.D. to try and patch things up with Andrew. He doesn’t want to live his life like that. He doesn’t want to live in a world where she exists only in a comatose state.

 

He wants her by his side; rolling her eyes at his lame jokes, cracking a smile when she thinks that he can’t see. He wants those late night mission briefings where he needs coffee to stay awake, where he makes her tea instead. He wants to watch her work out, regaling her with his troubles or worries while she listens with all the understanding in the world.

 

He wants his partner back.

 

He needs her.

 

“How do we get her out?”

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, he finds himself strapped up beside Melinda as Daisy watches him with what can only be described as a mixture of concern and admiration.

 

“The only way to get Agent May out safely is to have her want to leave the framework herself.” Fitz had explained to them while glaring at Radcliffe. Phil honestly had been too distracted by everything going on to notice what had happened between the two; but he imagines Radcliffe’s betrayal must have fit Fitz the hardest, considering the bond that had been forming.  

 

“How are we supposed to do that?” Daisy had asked before Phil could even open his mouth to respond. The possibilities running through his mind were endless, but he had only entertained them briefly before Radcliffe himself had spoken up from where Mack had restrained him.

 

“Someone would have to enter the framework and convince her to leave.”

 

Daisy had asked the man if he was crazy. Mack had answered that he was definitely crazy. Fitz had thrown his arms up into the air and started mumbling about the ridiculous of the situation.

 

“I’ll do it,” Phil had interjected, before their arguments could continue any further. And that’s when Daisy had really blown up at him. Told him he was being stupid, that they couldn’t trust the doctor, that May wouldn’t want him to risk his life trying to save hers. He had let her yell, just long enough for her to get those feelings off her chest, before glancing at Melinda and shaking his head.

 

“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

 

Only then had her features softened, a look of understanding forming as she nodded in resignation before waving for Fitz to comply. Mack had just stood there in the background, not even trying to hide his judgement. He understood. Mack was just trying to look out for him.

 

“She’ll be really mad at you for risking yourself like this,” Daisy tells him with a sad smile, turning her head to glance at May. Fitz is fiddling with dials beside them, trying to get everything absolutely correct, taking no risks in a situation this dire.

 

“I’m counting on it,” he responds, forcing his body to relax. He’s afraid of what he might see in there, what he might be taking away from her. He’s afraid that she might leave with him but always resent what she’d lost. But he’s most afraid that she’ll want to stay, and that if she does, he’ll have no reason for himself to return. His team could live without him, but he couldn’t live without her.

 

“Ready when you are, sir.” Fitz says, snapping him out of his thoughts. With Daisy’s help, the helmet is lowered over his head, and he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

 

And then everything fades to black.

 

* * *

 

The darkness lasts for only a moment before fading back to light, and Phil finds himself standing in the front yard of an unfamiliar suburban house. The lawn is neatly trimmed and the flowerbeds are filled with colour; he thinks that it’s probably spring here. Melinda loved Spring. He remembers one year at the Academy where she had broken into his room before sunrise, dragging him out of bed and forcing him to go on a run with her. They had stopped in a clearing in the woods that separated Operations from Communications, and sat down in the dewy grass together. He had picked her a wildflower and chattered on about how beautiful new life was, and she had smiled, running her fingers across the petals.

 

He takes slow steps up the paved pathway that leads to the front door. The windows are all closed, dark curtains preventing an outsider from looking in. He pauses by a window and examines himself; he looks the same, but the robotic hand is now gone, his hand undamaged, and he’s dressed casually, like one might be if they weren’t constantly flying around the world and fighting bad guys. He runs his good hand over where the fake one should have been, and shakes his head. It’s too strange.

 

Everything feels so real.

 

He stops when he reaches the front door, wondering whether he should knock or try to sneak in. This can’t be anyone but Melinda’s house, though it looks nothing like her old one in reality. He reaches out a hand to try the handle and finds it unlocked.

 

“Huh.”

 

He remembers the home Melinda had shared with Andrew before Bahrain. How they never bothered locking the door after she had returned from her morning runs. How he never had to knock when he came by. He remembers how he would always arrive early, just to see her for a few extra minutes, how Melinda had chalked it up to his fascination for being prompt. These thoughts linger in his mind as he opens the door and steps inside, closing it silently behind him.

 

The first thing that hits him when he enters is the smell. It’s morning, and someone is making, or has made, breakfast. Not Melinda; she’s an awful cook, in reality or otherwise. Pancakes or waffles, he guesses, but there’s also another scent, one that reminds him of home, warmth, comfort. A memory of his childhood home crosses his mind. He moves slowly, taking his time to observe his surroundings.

 

There’s a sitting room, right at the front of the house. The carpet is beige, as are the walls, which are mostly bare. It’s simple, just like Melinda likes it. A couch and two arm chairs are arranged, facing a television set, and a cabinet he thinks must be filled with DVDs. He turns and continues on his way. There’s a door to his right which he assumes must lead to the double garage he had seen outside. He wonders if Melinda still has her old motorcycle hidden in there.

 

He passes by several more closed doors as he makes his way down the hall. The floors are wooden but he doesn’t make a sound. There isn’t too much decoration here either, just a single painting in the middle of the hallway, between two doors. He recognises it. It’s the same one she had hanging in her other house - the real one; her father had painted it as a gift for her. It was an oil painting of the sunrise they had watched together when Melinda was a child; when she and her father had gotten up early enough to bid her mother goodbye as she left on another one of her missions, and they had sat out on their back porch together, to watch the sun slowly fill the sky with colours. It hangs above a small wooden table, sparse but for a white ceramic bowl filled with keys, and an assortment of knick knacks, some of which he remembers. Mementos from missions where they hadn’t been partnered up. A babushka doll from Moscow, a mini pyramid from Cairo, a figurine of a kangaroo from Sydney. He smiles at the thought of her keeping these; recalls her raised eyebrows and scoffs when he had presented them to her.

 

He slows to a stop as he reaches the end of the hallway. The sunlight is streaming in through the glass doors that lead to a large garden, making this part of the house much brighter than the darkened halls he had just wandered through. He determines from the smell of the food that the kitchen and likely dining room are to his left, and takes another step forward, just far enough for him to see for himself while still being concealed by the shadows.

 

He allows a small breath escape when he finally lays his eyes on her, the real her, for the first time in what he suspected had been weeks. He’d known he was going to see her, but nothing could prepare him for this sight. She has her back to him as she slowly moves her arms through the air. He always loved watching her do Tai Chi. She was relaxed like this, no tension in her shoulders, not an ounce of defensiveness present in her stance, The black tank top and tights that made up her favourite ensemble are so familiar to him, but here she is barefoot, comfortable in her own home.

 

She had always been so beautiful.

 

He doesn’t want to startle her and whoever else exists in this world to his presence, so he remains silent as he cranes his head to peer out and catch a glimpse of the kitchen. It’s modern, well maintained, very clean. There are two plates of food on the counter, two mugs of steaming hot liquid. But what draws his gaze the most is the little plastic pink cup; the opened carton of milk beside it.

 

Melinda had a family here.

 

A heavy, unsettling feeling washes over him. He was about to pull her out of a world where her life had turned out exactly the way it should have. He glances back at her and wonders how he hadn’t noticed the ring on her finger. Perhaps it was because he was trying to deny himself the truth. She was happy here. She had a child, likely a daughter from the looks of it. And he had to go and tell her that none of it was real. He remembers what he had said to Agnes; that Melinda deserved to live out the rest of her life on her own terms. Was this truly what she wanted? The life she would have had if Bahrain hadn’t happened, if the girl hadn’t died?

 

He’s so conflicted as he stares at her, watching her go through the motions. He knows her routine, he knows that it’s nearly over. He knows that this, will soon be over. He’s about to say something, about to step forward and reveal himself, when the sound of a door being opened in the hallway behind him has him freezing, bracing himself for what he’ll see when he turns. Might he come face to face with Andrew; a man he too considered an acquaintance if not a friend, yet another man he had not been able to save?

 

Except it’s not Melinda’s ex or potentially current simulation husband that he sees when he turns around. It’s a little girl with long dark hair, clearly trying to close the door to her bedroom as quietly as possible. It takes her a few moments, and Phil is worried about how she might react to a strange man in her home - unless he existed in this world as her Uncle Phil - until she spins around, and regards him with a toothy grin. She has her mother’s eyes, he thinks, as she runs over to him, and is wearing a set of Captain America pajamas.

 

“Are you spying on Mommy?” she whispers, covering her mouth with both hands as she giggles. He doesn’t know how to respond, forcing a smile, trying not to scare the girl. She wasn’t real, but it sure as hell feels real when she tugs on his pant leg before holding her arms out at him, a universal sign of wanting to be picked up. He bends and lifts her into his arms, letting her settle against his hip - It was strange; she was almost like a familiar weight. He feels her skinny arms wrap around his neck, and a warmth spreads in his heart. Real or not, this felt right.

 

He holds up a finger to his lips to signal for her to be quiet as he contemplates on how to proceed. He had not come into this expecting to encounter a child, but he should have known better. Melinda had always wanted this - something he himself could never have had. The girl shakes her head at him and cups her hands around his ear, whispering conspiratorially to him.

 

“Mommy _always_ catches you.”

 

He stills, his grip on her tightening just a little, unsure of how to interpret her words. He evidently existed in this world; but in what capacity, he can’t quite figure out. He stares at the little girl in his arms, trying to stay expressionless as he studies her. She tilts her head up and regards him with a look that is so eerily similar to Melinda’s, until the corners of her mouth begin to tilt upwards, and she’s wearing the same dimpled smile from earlier.

 

“Told you.”

 

He’s confused, until he realises that in his distraction, Melinda had finished her workout and was now standing directly beside him, leaning against the wall with one arm. She had tugged her hair out of the ponytail he had seen it in just moments before, and now the loose curls flowed down her shoulders, her face framed by the same bangs he had last seen during their days at the Academy.

 

_“I have half a mind to just shave my head,” she had told him one afternoon. They were lying on his bed, trying to study for their upcoming exams, and her hair was falling into her eyes, making her pause and try to brush it back every few minutes._

 

_“I like your hair like this,” he had responded, daring to reach out a hand and smooth it down even further over her eyes. The next moment he was pinned beneath her, arm bent behind him as he pleaded for her mercy._

 

It’s not just the hair that catches his attention.

 

It’s the carefree smile that mirrors that of the little girl in his arms.

 

“Morning, Mommy,” the girl practically chirps, and Melinda’s smile grows as she steps closer to them, resting a hand on Phil’s chest as she leans over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Phil wonders if she can feel the increase in his heart rate beneath her fingertips, but if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

 

“Good morning, Peggy,” she responds, as she tucks a strand of the little girl, no Peggy’s hair, behind her ear. Peggy.

 

Peggy.

 

Peggy?

 

Melinda and Andrew would have never named a daughter after the former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and she was in Captain America pajamas, and Melinda had Phil’s little presents on display, and waffles were _his_ signature breakfast dish and her hand was resting on his chest and…

 

No…

 

There was no way…

 

Except Melinda was now leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her hand having moved from his hip to cup his jaw, thumb tracing over his stubble. She was still smiling as she pulled back, fingers trailing down his neck before they stopped to straighten out his collar. He doesn’t know how he should react, because Melinda May, the real Melinda May with all the real feelings, has conjured up a reality in her mind, where they have a family together.

 

“You need to go and have breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” she’s telling _their_ daughter, tapping her on the nose, drawing out another round of giggles from her. The sound was like music to his ears. Peggy wriggles down from his arms and runs towards the kitchen, climbing up onto a stool that should be much too high for her to reach, before pulling herself up onto the counter and sitting down with her legs crossed. She reaches for her cup and takes a gulp, leaving a milk moustache on her upper lip, before tilting her head and frowning at the food in front of her, brows knitted together in contemplation. Her little hand hovers either plate before she grabs a waffle from the left one, syrup running over her fingers.

 

“And you, you need to go and shave.”

 

He turns back to Melinda, who is still so close beside him, Melinda who thinks of him as her _husband,_  Melinda, who is imagining all of this.

 

He, he doesn’t know how to tell her. That this life is all a lie, a figment of her imagination. That out there, there’s a world that’s so much more real, and so much more terrifying. That he needs her to wake up and come back to him.

 

But it can’t hurt them any more than it already will if he lets this dream go on for just a moment longer.

 

Sometimes he forgets how small she is, without the high heeled boots and the hardened expression, standing barefoot in her workout gear. He has to really lean down to kiss her, even though she’s leaning up into him, and her palms resting flat against his chest and god, this feels more real than it did with the LMD, even though it’s all happening inside their heads. One of his arms ends up around her waist, pulling her closer against him, the other curving around her back so he can bury his hand in her curls.

 

They’re making out in the hallway and their imaginary daughter is sitting on the kitchen counter eating waffles and humming to herself. When Melinda finally pulls away, his hand is still tangled in her hair and she has the most content expression on her face.

 

And now he has to take it all away from her.

 

He moves both his hands to gently cup her face, and his expression must be revealing, because the smile fades from her features and slowly morphs into a frown.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks him, and his heart is already beginning to break, just from the concern in her tone.

 

“Melinda, I just need you to know, that I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

 

The emotions are pouring out of him now; he’s trying to contain all his feelings into a few simple words that will get her to understand what is about to happen.

 

“I know you do, Phil.”

 

She’s smirking at him now and god, he doesn’t want to do this, he really doesn’t. But they can’t just stay here forever. Theoretically they could, but their world, the real world, is where they belong. They were too old to live in a dream land forever.

 

“Melinda, this isn’t real.”

 

She frowns again, pulling away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Phil.”

 

It hurts. It hurts so much to have to do this to her. But it’s for the best. It’s for the best. He keeps trying to tell himself that because if it wasn’t he would stay right there in a heartbeat.

 

“None of this is real Melinda. This house, this world, this life. It’s a simulation.”

 

She’s shaking her head, regarding him with such a broken expression that he wants to drop to his knees and beg her to forgive him for the pain he is putting her through.

 

“No. We’re going to finish breakfast, and then I’m going to drop Peggy off at school. You have until then to decide whether it’s worth it to play such a cruel prank.”

 

She moves to exit the hallway, but he stops her, grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards him.

 

“Melinda, you have to believe me. This world, it doesn’t exist. It’s a figment of your imagination.”

 

She shakes her head again, looking down at the floor, before she lifts her head up to meet his gaze; tears welling up in her eyes.

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“Because I promised to never lie to you again. Not after what happened with Gonzales, and real S.H.I.E.L.D. and Andrew.”

 

He can see the moment it clicks for her, the recognition in her eyes as he mentions the events in their real life together.

 

And then she nods slowly, comprehending his words.

 

“None of this is real? Our.. our daughter? She’s not real?”

 

He can’t look her in the eyes as he shakes his head, but surprisingly, she doesn’t pull back any more, instead moving forward to tuck herself into his side. He can feel her tears dampening the front of his shirt, and wonders if she can feel his falling above her. He feels helpless - like he  can’t do anything but just stand there and let her cry. He doesn’t know how long it lasts for, or if it will ever end, until he hears her speak to him, in the softest whisper.

 

“Will you be there when I wake up?”

 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head; the world is beginning to blur around them and he doesn’t know whether that’s from the tears in his eyes or a sign that they’re fading out from it.

 

“I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Coulson. Coulson. Snap out of it.”

 

Phil forces his eyes open and gasps for air, breathing heavily as Mack steadies him with one strong arm.

 

“Coulson, are you okay?”

 

Daisy is on his other side, watching him with concern and Fitz is beside her, holding the helmet in both hands. He.. he can’t concentrate. He pushes past them and stumbles over to where Melinda is, still unmoving.

 

“Come on Melinda. You have to fight this. Please.”

 

He’s a desperate man, holding onto the love of his life, unwilling to let her go. Not after this. Not after knowing that she felt the same way about him. He was a selfish man. There was so much he wanted now. Sparring together like the old days, her pinning him to the mats. Staying up together, him talking, her listening, taking shots of whiskey. He could tell her that he loved her now. There could be morning runs and stolen kisses throughout the day, and her sneaking into his room after dark. Breakfast the morning after… There were so many possibilities. They couldn’t have Peggy but it could be enough. He could be enough.

 

He lets out a sigh of relief when her brow creases in that familiar way, and her hands are twitching, ready for a fight and then her eyes are open, and her chest is heaving as she tries to draw oxygen into her lungs.

 

“Phil,” she shouts, voice hoarse from disuse, and he’s easing the helmet off her head, tossing it aside without a care, and pulling her into his arms. She’s shaking and so is he, fingers trembling as his hand rubs circles into her back, trying to calm her down the only way he knows how.

 

“It’s okay Melinda. I’m here,” he whispers into her hair, and he can feel her nodding against him. She’s sagging in his arms, and he’s already weak at the knees, so he just slumps against the gurney and slides them to the ground, pulling her into his lap. He ignores Daisy’s shout of alarm at them falling, and focuses solely on Melinda, the way her fingers are digging into his arm, her breath warm against his neck.

 

“You’re here,” she says softly, turning so that she’s resting her head beneath his chin.

 

“I promised.”

 

* * *

 

Recovery doesn’t happen overnight.

 

Physically she’s back in top form after only a month, and is training her team with the help of Daisy, who she can still knock out with ease.

 

Mentally, she’s still healing.

 

She moved into Phil’s room at the base as soon as Simmons had released her from medical. He hadn’t expected it; she had just shown up at his door, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and leggings. He had let her in without a word, and when he climbed into bed, she crawled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder.

 

She had come back the next evening, and then the one after that, and by the fourth day, when she had tried to sneak out in the morning, he had wrapped an arm around her and whispered for her to stay.

 

Two weeks into their new sleeping arrangements, he wakes up to her crying into night. He reaches blindly in the darkness to switch on the lights, and holds her close while she lets out her frustrations. When there are no more tears, his shirt is soaked and she pulls it off him, resting her head over his scar.

 

“Please tell me this is real.”

 

He runs a hand up and down her back, the other taking her hand and pulling it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips.

 

“It’s real. All of it.”

 

He can tell that she’s smiling; he can’t explain how, but he knows she is. They could have lived a thousand different life times in different dream worlds, but he wouldn’t trade anything for this, the woman he loved more than anything else in the world, drifting to sleep in his arms. When he slips off into a slumber, there’s a smile on his lips too.


End file.
